Under the Sunlight, Full of Laughter and Sparks

There isn’t a universal way of loving someone. Our preferences change depending on the mask we wear at the time. Since I’ve been orbiting around different love patterns lately, I wanted to tell a lighter story this time.

Someone once loved me exactly the way I wanted to be loved. I felt blessed because I always thought it was a matter of how they loved. Now, when I look back, I realise it was also a matter of who. What I once thought was enough, no longer was with time.

I’m not greedy when it comes to love. Demanding was never my style. I often settled for what was given, even though my inner attention-whore was never satisfied. Back then, I believed it was me who couldn’t seek the love I longed at my heart.

Then came a story that began unconventionally with my first love. It became the most cherished love story of my life, one I always kept close to my heart.

We met at a festival on a mountain by the coast. I first saw him by the tents when I was struggling to build mine. He offered to help, and later we stole someone else’s air bed when I realised I didn’t have one. Our recklessness was at the exact same height.

We became perfect partners in crime for the first two nights. Two different personalities somehow found healing through each other’s eyes.

Little gestures can speak louder than big actions. He won me over when he bought me a can of Coke after overhearing me say I craved one. Those small signs of attention always held special places in my heart.

The third day at the camp was the best day of my life. We shared an experience under the sunlight, full of laughter and sparks. I remember the exact words that came from a faceless stranger while we were resting in a corner, so tired of climbing the hill back to the top.

“You two look so happy, your eyes shine very bright. Don’t ever lose that, no matter what.”

For me, rest meant staying behind. In refusing to rest, I lost more than I gained, sometimes even at the cost of throwing my reputation away. My sisters gave me a harsh intervention once: “That’s enough. Know when to stop.” That became a turning point in my life.

The best day of my life passed exactly as I described. When the night came, I was tired; this time, I owed it to myself to go and rest.

I thought he was going to dismiss me and carry on with his party, simply thinking that I was no longer fun. I knew he wanted to dance, but he chose my presence instead. There was this cave where everyone went to chill during daytime. He always had been practical and smart. He thought that cave could be a shelter for us.

We lay there together, watching and talking over the images that were carved on the ceiling. I fell asleep in his arms. Afterwards that became the place where I felt the safest for a long time. He held me in a way I never doubted his mind.

I know he admired the way I viewed life. He cherished all the parts that made me who I was. He loved me selflessly, even too much that it began to hurt me because, for him my love was never enough. Any love I had for anyone else, even family or friends, would shatter him.

Over time I felt suffocated, but I still loved him too much. I wasn’t familiar with manipulation back then, so I couldn’t imagine my life without his “Good morning love.”

Yet I knew the relationship wasn’t serving me anymore. I had to set myself apart. After the breakup, we came back into each other’s lives many times, but the timing that once worked for us was long gone.

I believe we all enter each other’s lives with a purpose. Some arrive as gifts, teaching us tenderness, while others come as trials, forcing us to grow through pain.

Two people in my life were both water and fire. They soothed me, later burned me to the ground. Only afterward did I understand their role was to teach me how to endure, to release and change. Yet the way I remember them differs: one left a legacy, the other simply remained as a stain.

Seneca wrote that fate leads the willing and drags the unwilling. People appear in our stories the same way, some guiding us gently, others pushing us into lessons we never sought.

We went through so much that eventually became toxic. He may be the one who had done the biggest wrongs, but his cruelty always came from his suffering heart. Even when he seemed evil, I always knew that wasn't who he truly was. It takes two to tango; I too had my faulty parts. Still, we always found a way to forgive each other, even though we’ve grown far apart.

Kierkegaard, saw each encounter as a step toward truth. People are questions disguised as companions. It doesn’t matter if they remain or vanish; what matters is how they change us. When I started to look at things this way, every loss became a win in its own way.

We don’t belong to each other anymore, but with him, accepting that doesn’t come with pain. Over time, life taught me that letting go is the strongest act of love.

Forcing a memory to reappear as it once was, is unfair to the beauty of those. Instead, our memories freeze them eternally, and that’s what keeps them sacred and alive.

The love I had for him never disappeared. It simply changed form, evolved with life. He holds so many parts of me that remind me of who I once was. That girl still lives in me, but just as my love for him evolved, so did she.

With every experience that came to an end, I became the best version of myself.

To the first love of my life, ours was a myth written for its hour under the sun. I still feel its warmth, but I know it cannot be rekindled the same way. The gift is in knowing it was real, and the freedom is in releasing it back to time.

Still, I know I will never have a better best day of my life.